Misty Clouds

Suddenly it looks misty

and cloudy.

A miasma of our duplicitous past

Is hanging over the Niger.

Blowing down from the polar.

It looks like rain again.

Rain again,

Whoever wants it to rain again.



Who is it that taught you

Such mendacity:

You were "born to rule"?

Whoever lied to you that

The more southerners you killed

Or the more churches you bombed,

The more virgins you will be

entitled to in heaven?



Whoever told them

We can not match their missiles or

Even quench their fires

With the waters we have in the khamsin?



It looks like a storm again

But we no longer use machetes.

They appear to be ready;

chanting their war songs.

But we pray not for this impending rain of blood.